


High Society

by kisssanitygoodbye, moodymarshmallow



Series: Like Attracts Like [12]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Semi-Public Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisssanitygoodbye/pseuds/kisssanitygoodbye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron still doesn't like fancy parties, but he finds ways to make them interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Society

**Author's Note:**

> written by Moodymarshmallow

Despite his displeasure at being dragged along to yet another tedious noble gathering, Theron had to admit that the de Launcets had a very nice ballroom. The walls were cool, cream-colored marble embedded with veins of gold that made the walls catch and reflect the warm yellow light cast by half a dozen crystal chandeliers. In the corner there was an enormous pianoforte--a grande one, or so a waiter had told Theron--behind which a talented pianist was seated, playing suitably festive music. Against the opposite wall to the pianoforte, three long tables were placed end to end and covered in clean white linen. On the middle table, there was a large punch bowl filled with dark red liquid and exotic fruits. A ladle leaned against the inside of the bowl, and around it was at least a hundred small crystal glasses so the guests could have whatever they wished. On the tables on either side of central one, there were rows upon rows of porcelain spoons, each holding a single bite of something sweet and overcomplicated, like berries soaked in alcohol and honey, topped with frothy cream. Behind the spoons were perfect squares of cake with multicolored icing, a sugared flower that matched the icing balanced on top. Besides these there were crystal goblets filled with trifles and puddings, golden spoons planted into the sweets. Theron stared at all of these with barely concealed disdain, avoiding the well-dressed waiters who extended  plates to him.

On the opposite side of the punch bowl, there were savory foods, similar in portion to the desserts. Theron had quickly discovered that one of these dishes was a fat mushroom, hollowed out and filled with Orlesian ham and cheese before they were baked with some sort of sauce. He liked them so much that every time he passed the table there was a waiter waiting with a plate ready for him

From the cluster of nobles, Theron gathered that this dining set-up was so out of the ordinary that it would have caused a scandal were it not so successful. Instead, nobles were whispering about how they were going to outdo the de Launcets at their next affair. Theron hoped, rather bleakly, that Fabian would not receive invitations to these parties.

Thinking of Fabian reminded Theron that it had been an hour since he last saw him, and he scanned the room, trying to get a glimpse of Fabian’s royal blue finery in the crowd. There was no sign of him, nor were there any big, soft chairs as there were at the last party. In effort to draw attention to the pianoforte and the buffet, the de Launcets had removed any seating areas from the room, leaving the ballroom open and airy, with no hiding places.

“It is Messere Mahariel, am I correct?”

Theron started. Nobody spoke to him at these parties--it was understood that Theron’s presence was an aberration, only tolerated because of his connections to Fabian Hawke, and that he was not to be acknowledged. Theron didn’t mind. He came to these events solely to dissuade people from attempting to pair Fabian up with their daughters (or sons) and didn’t care if Kirkwall society disliked him. He turned and recognized the fine-boned blonde as Lady Elegant, a fixture at these parties, though always with the look of someone who just barely belonged. It was a look that Theron recognized, having seen it often on Fabian’s face.

“Yes,” Theron answered shortly, trying to remember if there was some sort of protocol he was supposed to obey, and if he wanted to if there was. Lady Elegant seemed not to mind and smiled amiably.

“You look dashing, messere. You must give me the name of your tailor.”

Theron glanced down, realizing he wasn’t sure who had made the dark brown brocade. He did know that it was the same man who had made the green finery, but only because he didn’t have to be measured a second time.

“I will have Fabian send the information round,” Theron said, making no attempt to take on the affected posh accent that most of Kirkwall’s nobles seemed to have, but using their speech patterns just the same.

“You don’t need to be so formal. You and I both know we don’t belong here.” A waiter passed, and Lady Elegant took two glasses of wine from his tray, offering one to Theron. He took it, nodding politely.

“I definitely don’t belong, but I’m not sure I’d say the same about you,” Theron said with a little shrug. “No offense meant.”

“None taken,” she said with a wry smile. “I may look the part, but I’m only here because I married into wealth, same as you.”

“I am not mar--”

“I know, but the outcome is the same, isn’t it? We’re both here, ignored and out of place, trying to keep ourselves from dying of boredom.” Lady Elegant downed her wine and handed the empty glass to a waitress. “You’re lucky though.”

“Oh?”

“Nobody even notices you’re here. Fifi de Launcet is flagging me down, but as soon as I leave, you’ll be invisible. Nobody would notice if you slipped out and explored.” With a wink, Lady Elegant left Theron standing near the pianoforte, waving to the fashionably dressed young woman who had been trying to get her attention. Theron looked around again, trying and failing to find Fabian amongst the crowd, and resigned himself to returning to the buffet for another mushroom.

As he crossed the room, he noticed a door where he hadn’t seen one before and immediately stopped, suspicious. After a moment, he realized that the door was painted to match the marble and had no visible handle on this side; he only saw it because it was slightly ajar. After throwing a quick glance around the room to confirm that nobody was watching him, Theron slunk across to that door, peeking in furtively before stepping through.

The door opened into a narrow hallway lined with portraits. From resemblance, Theron guessed that these were ancestors of the de Launcet family, though he did not particularly care to stop and read the gilt plates under the frames as he passed them by. He paused by one of them, not because it interested him, but because the muffled sound of giggling had reached his ears. He cocked his head curiously, pinpointing the noise as coming from behind the wall. He found the door, still closed, and leaned his head against it. He heard another giggle and a moan before he reached for the knob, carefully cracking the door so that he could peek in.

From what he could tell it was some sort of sitting room, a few big chairs circled around a low table, a silver tea service sitting off to the side. On the table was a young woman Theron immediately recognized as Babette de Launcet. She was looking up at a woman Theron didn’t know, though he realized quickly that she was wearing the same clothing as the waitresses in the ballroom. Before he had time to wonder why Babette was back here, rather than out on the ballroom with the rest of her family, he watched the servant kneel in front of Babette, running her fingers down Babette’s ruffled skirt. He raised his brows as Babette reached behind herself and undid the laces of her corset, letting it loosen just enough for the servant to pull down her gauzy top, exposing pale, heavy breasts. Babette and the servant were quiet, but he heard the small gasp as the servant covered Babette’s nipple with her mouth.

A hand came down on Theron’s shoulder and he quickly shut the door, stumbling over an apology and a lie about looking for the powder room until he realized that it was Fabian who had touched him. Theron sighed, leaning his back against the closed door.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Fabian said, placing a gentle kiss on Theron’s temple. “I was afraid you might have died of boredom and I’d have to carry you out of here, cursing the de Launcet’s for murdering my date.”

“I’m sure,” Theron said in his quiet way, tilting to meet Fabian’s lips.

“Mm, you look fantastic.” Fabian ran a warm hand down Theron’s shoulder and around his back, resting it on the middle of his back. “Do you know how hard it is not to bend you over that buffet table and show all of these stuffy nobles what a real party is about?”

“I don’t think they’re all so stuffy,” Theron said with a sly smile. Fabian raised a brow and Theron put his finger to his lips, gesturing to the door across the way. Fabian opened it, and Theron was relieved to find an identical sitting room to the one where Babette was dallying with the maid, only empty. Theron grabbed Fabian’s hand and pulled him into the room, finding a chain lock on the door and sliding it closed. “I saw Babette de Launcet mm...shall we say...in a compromising position.”

Fabian grinned, pressing Theron’s body firmly to the closed door. “Do tell.”

“She’s in the room across the hall,” Theron said, sliding his hand down to place it over the one Fabian had slid between his legs. “Mm. With a maid.”

“You’re joking,” Fabian said with a delighted grin, massaging Theron gently through his trousers. “Do you know what kind of scandal  that would be?”

“I don’t really care,” Theron gently gripped Fabian’s wrist to stop him.

“Spoilsport. But this is wonderful. I can use this against her the next time she corners me and tries to talk about marriage.” Fabian kissed Theron lightly, raking his teeth gently over his lower lip. “What _would_ I do without you?”

“Isn’t it fortunate that you’ll never have to know?” Theron leaned in to kiss Fabian’s neck, sliding a finger into his collar to pull it down just enough to expose his adam’s apple.

“You know what that does to me,” Fabian growled.

“I know exactly what it does,” Theron said, his voice a soft purr. “And you deserve me kicking you out there in this condition for leaving me to _mingle_ for an hour.” Theron lifted the hem of Fabian’s tunic and tucked it into his belt before pressing his palm to Fabian’s thin trousers, finding the bulge of his half-hard cock.

Fabian shoved his hips forward, pushing into Theron’s hand. “Don’t you fucking tease me, not here.”

“I don’t plan on teasing you.” Theron wrapped one arm around Fabian’s neck and pulled him down. “I plan on stripping down to these ridiculous silk smalls you left me--”

“You wore those?” Fabian asked, his eyes lighting up. “I didn’t think you’d--”

“--then fucking you senseless.” Theron gave him a squeeze. “But, there’s a problem with that.”

“What?” Fabian’s face fell.

“You can’t fuck me here,” Theron whispered.

“The Void I can’t,” Fabian growled, shoving his hips again. Theron shook his head.

“You need to take me home to prepare,” Theron said, sounding apologetic as he untucked Fabian’s tunic and smoothed it over his trousers.

“You...you did that on purpose.” Fabian narrowed his eyes in accusation, hissing inwardly when Theron kissed his throat.

“You bet your ass I did. Now get me out of here and I’ll follow through.”

“You know what? I think I’ve had more than enough of high society.” Fabian kissed Theron, raising his fingers to rub one elongated ear between them. “Let’s get out of here.”

“About fucking time,” Theron said with a grin, unlocking the door and pulling Fabian out into the hallway, ignoring the ecstatic gasping from the room across from theirs as he dragged Fabian out of the de Launcet’s manor and into the night, promise sparkling in his smile.

 

 


End file.
